


Time

by lovethybooty



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Character Death, Coping, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Past Sexual Abuse, Song fic, death (mentioned) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 18:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5595853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovethybooty/pseuds/lovethybooty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finnick always wanted time.  </p><p>Annie always wanted Finnick.</p><p>In the end, nobody really gets what they want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time

**Author's Note:**

> My AP Bio teacher used to always say that time wasn't real. And that may be so, but it sure as hell still hurts.

**i.**

“If you could have anything you wanted, Finnick, what would it be?” Soft words fill empty air, her lanky body sprawled out in the sand, eyes drifting to the stars above them.

“Time,” his answer immediately, almost too fast. He never seems to have enough time, like he's being crushed beneath a clock or something.

Annie nods solemnly in response. She understands time. Understands that time, like death, takes and takes.

  **ii.**

Mags waits with Finnick, her small, wrinkled hand encasing his own. He is 15 and scared. Anxious, in a dreadful sort of way. He shoot her a pained look, like that of someone who understands everything completely and yet is confused all the same. The worry is evident in those famous eyes of his. It's as if he knows something is wrong, but he just can’t place a name to it.

“How much longer do we have to wait?”

“Not long, boy,” Mags murmurs, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

His meeting with the president isn't long, and when it's over he wishes he could’ve waited forever. But time is fleeting and so is innocence.

**iii.**

She wakes up tangled in sheets and limbs, wild curls resting on his chest. The morning’s sun drifts in through the thin curtains, its soft golden light spilling over them.

For once, she thinks, everything seems to be okay. And in the life of a victor, “okay” is something quite rare and inexplicably special.

This hazy, lazy Sunday morning drags on into a lazy, hazy Sunday night. For once, time seems to have stopped. Just for them.

**iv.**

He sits on his cot in Thirteen, but his mind is somewhere else. Perhaps a warm beach, maybe his boat out on the water. It's a skill he picked up from Annie-  escaping, that is. And in this moment, he's entirely lost until a small voice rings out in the room.

“Do you miss her?” she asks, tone laced with heartache.

He nods slowly and reaches for her smooth hand, illuminated only by the dim lantern’s light. “Why’re you awake?”

Annie shrugs. Being awake at inappropriate hours is nothing new. “Just couldn’t sleep- it’s too… mechanical in here. Why are _you_ awake?”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” he begins with a sniffle. “There wasn’t enough time.”

He had been on a literal clock, yet there still wasn't enough time. And still he can hear it-  tick, tock, tick, tock.

Annie sits up from where she lay, moving to snuggle closer to his side. She sighs, head finding home upon his shoulder.

**v.**

She lives for many years without Finnick. In a cottage by the seas of Four, she watches her son grow up. And she watches his sons grow up. She watches so many people grow up, yet she can never help but wonder how old age would’ve suited him.

He had always wanted more time, but his was cut short.

In her last days, she dreams often of his eyes. They're youthful, forever young. She weeps for them.

And when her time is up, she's thankful. Finally, she'll see him again.  

Annie Cresta understands time. She understands that time, like death, takes and takes. And finally, after so many lonely years of waiting, they both have come to take her home.


End file.
